


Go And Catch A Falling Star

by ThePraxianWeasleyGeek



Category: Stardust (2007), Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M, Stardust AU, but we'll see, crossover time!, may end up being nothing like SM or Stardust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-13 15:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3386153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePraxianWeasleyGeek/pseuds/ThePraxianWeasleyGeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strange Magic meets Stardust au.<br/>Boggan King grew up in the village of Wall, blissfully unaware of the turbulent and dangerous fairy kingdom bordering his home. But when a rash promise to retrieve a falling star for his sweetheart sends him on a journey through the land of Stormhold, there's no end to the surprises that Faerie has in store. Not least that the star he seeks is actually a girl named Dawn, cheerful despite her circumstances and with an unfortunate fondness for singing. Bog isn't the only one after her, though. There's a wannabe prince on their tail, a powerful sorceress - and Dawn's sister, Marianne, who jumped out of the sky herself to stop the younger star getting in trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been a bit of a long time coming with all my chatting about it on tumblr - but here we are! Hopefully I can stick with this thing, because the prologue alone was super fun to write and I can't wait to take it further. 
> 
> This is sort of a blend of both book and movie continuities for Stardust - I'm just picking and choosing for what fits Strange Magic best.

The old king was dying.

Griselda knew he was the Old King now, not just the King anymore, and she knew it because he was sprawled on the cool marble floor of the entrance hall, warm blood pooling beneath him and crusting his hastily-donned armour as it dried.

There was a dagger in his neck.

People were screaming in the distance - palace workers fleeing the scene of the crime and the swords of invading soldiers, though Griselda couldn't imagine that the servants would be in any trouble. The courtiers, though, who'd supported the Old King... well, there would be more blood on the marble before the sun rose.

He was the Old King, yet he could hardly be called old. Barely past twenty, in the prime of his health, full of energy and with such lively, brilliant blue eyes. Those eyes were glassy now, and his body had gone limp. Moments ago he had been leaping and dodging and whirling, sword in hand and a triumphant laugh in his chest. Then some footsoldier had hurled a dagger across the room. Griselda should have left at that point, but her feet wouldn't move.

She was as rigid as the pillar beside her, and her heart felt as cold as the stone beneath her bare feet. His head was turned in her direction. It was sickening, having those fogged-over blue eyes gazing at her when their light had been snuffed out. Her own eyes were damp as she bit her lip, not daring to make a sound even though she wanted to scream.

Had he seen her? She hoped not. If he'd spotted her lurking in her shadowed corner then somebody else might have too, and that somebody else might not hesitate to slit her throat. After all, if the body on the floor belonged to the Old King then she had become the Old Queen, and the bundle in her arms was suddenly the most precious thing in all Stormhold. She just hoped a letter would be enough to explain that last to him.

Griselda cast one final glance back at the body of her husband. Then she turned and ran for the door, cradling the New King to her chest.

* * *

Stuff was scared, though she didn't show it. Thang, beside her, had no such restraint, and was expressing his fear through a string of swear words.

Their names weren't really Stuff and Thang - but nobody in the palace kitchens had bothered to learn their real names, as was the case with everyone in the small army of pot boys and scullery drudges employed there. And nobody in the palace kitchens would probably see them again after tonight, either.

If they went back, it could cost them their lives.

"Why'd she have to give the bloody thing to us?" Thang was whining. "If anyone catches us, we're fucking dead. That's it. Gone. And the kid gone too, so what'd be the bloody point?"

"We'll just have to not get caught then," Stuff growled. "So shut up, and maybe we'll stand a better chance. The Wall's not far now."

"There's a Babylon Candle in that basket. We could"-

"NO!" Stuff insisted. "That's for the prince to use! We've been given instructions by the queen herself - you want to go against them?"

"What does it matter who's on the throne, anyway? How is this kid gonna be any better than the new people? He's not even a year old, for the gods' sakes!"

"'The new people' aren't from Stormhold," Stuff wheezed. They were climbing a hill now. The Wall should be just over this rise... "They're from over the border, and they don't care about us, Thang. They invaded the elves' country, and forced them into work for them. We'll be next if we don't get the prince to safety."

"How do you know all this stuff, anyway, Stuff?"

"I listen. Fancy courtiers always think servants are just part of the furniture." Stuff swept her braids back over her shoulder and sprinted up the last of the slope. She could just see a glimpse of tumbledown stones through the trees ahead.

"We made it. Now c'mon."

There was an elderly, white-haired individual sat slumped against the Wall as the pair cautiously clambered through the gap. They appeared to be asleep, and Stuff wasn't quite sure if they were male or female.

Neither Stuff nor Thang saw the Wall Guard open one beady black eye, too busy racing for the village in the distance. As the two of them slipped back into Faerie later, whoever-it-was still seemed to be slumbering deeply.

* * *

 

Brutus Thorn and his wife, Florence, were asleep when a knock sounded at their door. However, it was a loud knock, and the house was small. Being a blacksmith didn't allow for very extravagant living.

Flo was the one to answer it, with a shawl hurriedly draped over her nightdress. What she found on the doorstep surprised both of them.

"A baby?!" Brutus exclaimed, nonplussed. "Whose is it? Is there a note?"

Flo cradled the sleeping child in one arm and reached for the basket it'd come in. There were three things buried beneath the blanket: a small, cylindrical package wrapped in parchment, sealed with a blob of wax; a glass pin in the shape of a yellow flower with deep green leaves - and a letter. The package had writing on the side - 'To Bog' - and since neither of them were called Bog and Florence had been raised not to read other people's letters, she left it in its place. The note, however, she retrieved.

It was addressed to 'Whomever Should Find This'.

 _Dear Stranger,_ the inside read. The author's handwriting was messy and rushed, blotched in places where the pen had leaked.

_The baby's name is Boggan King. I do not have time to say all I would wish to, but know that he is loved, and do not think poorly of me for entrusting him to you. Were I able to keep him I would, but this was the only way to ensure his safety. His life would be in danger if he stayed with me._

_I did not leave him because he was unwanted. He must know this. Please love him as though he were your own._

_He must return home someday. Many people await him, though to claim his birthright may prove perilous. When he is ready, he must find the gap between the worlds, and all will be known to him in time. All will be his, too, if he is able to take it._

_More than anything else, he should know that his mother loved him._

The letter was signed in an illegible scrawl, and when Flo reached the end she glanced up at her husband, wide-eyed.

"What on Earth does all of this mean?"

"It could mean anything," Brutus replied. "Could be that he's the son of a nobleman, with all that talk of 'birthrights' - but it could be his mother wasn't right in the head."

Florence looked over the last part again. "The gap between worlds," she repeated. "Sounds a bit like the legend about that old wall. But you're probably right. Maybe his mother was young, got herself in a bad way - and if she wasn't all there, who knows what sort of things she'd believe in."

She straightened up, set the letter on the kitchen table, and wrapped her other arm around the baby.

"At any rate, we're keeping him. Poor thing. Bit of an odd name, too, but I think we should honour his mother's wishes."

Brutus nodded. "As if there was any doubt. It's not like there's anywhere else for him."

Flo gazed down at the infant, brushing a finger along his cheek.

"Little Boggan. Bog for short then, I suppose. Though we'll have to name him Thorn, I think."

Bog squirmed at Florence's touch, opening wide, brilliant blue eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Boggan Thorn, his parents had come to realise, was head-over-heels in love.

It had been eighteen years since the basket with the baby in had shown up on their doorstep, and in that time Bog had grown considerably. And then grown some more. And then, to Flo's slight consternation because it seemed a final indicator that her darling adopted son was, indisputably, no longer the little boy she had fed and taught and cared for, but a young man - he had grown a beard.

He'd quickly got rid of that, once Brutus told him he looked ridiculous and introduced him to the technicalities of shaving.

Now, to Florence at least, this was the _final_ final indicator. Her son was in love. Which meant, surely, that he'd soon propose and then be married and then doubtlessly fly the nest in extravagant fashion, with dreams in his head of starting a family as far afield as Bedford or even Ipswich...

Or at least it would, were the object of his affections not Ivy Forester.

Ivy was, it was largely agreed, the most beautiful girl in the village of Wall. And the generally accepted truth of being the most beautiful girl in a small village is that a good percentage of its young male population will end up head-over-heels in love with you. Bog was one of a long line of suitors. It had to be admitted that he was probably somewhere near the back of the queue.

Florence was a little concerned by this turn of events.

"Couldn't he have fallen for some other girl?" she sighed, as she tied off the thread on the shirt she was darning. "Nettie Monday is very sweet, and her father owns the greengrocer's. Or there's Jane Potter - I hear she wants to be a schoolteacher. That just seems... so much _safer_ , don't you think?"

"When has young love ever been about safety?" Brutus replied. "Let him be, he'll come round soon enough. It's not as though he's the only one chasing her. Besides, if you're really worried - I hear Nettie's brother plans to propose to Ivy soon."

"Oh, poor Bog will be heartbroken!" Flo exclaimed.

"Make up your mind," Brutus laughed. "D'you want Bog to forget about this or not?"

"Well I do, really. It's not like anything would've come of it. But it was nice to hope."

She paused, biting her lip.

"Do you ever wonder if - maybe - we should have done something about that letter we found him with?"

"Why do you ask?" Brutus frowned.

"It's just... what if there was more to it than we thought? What if he really did have something else out there, waiting for him? Something more than marrying a greengrocer's daughter or a schoolteacher?"

"What if his mother never found Wall, and had to abandon him under a hedge?" Brutus countered. "What if he was left on the Mondays' doorstep instead, and grew up in a bigger, fancier house, with new things whenever he wanted them? He ended up with us, Flo. And I think we made the best of it, didn't we?"

"Yes, I suppose we did."

"Then that's all you need to think about. Not all these 'what if's and imaginings. We've no way of knowing what that letter meant. It was probably nothing at all."

Florence nodded, then glanced at the clock. "It's late - he should be back from work by now."

"I'm sure he's fine. Stop worrying so much, love."

* * *

 

Bog certainly didn't feel fine. He was more nervous than he'd ever been in his life, though he tried not to show it. He hadn't even thought this would work.

Yet here he was, ambling down the road out of Wall with Ivy Forester on his arm. They wouldn't be going far - he'd known it'd be dark by the time he finished setting everything up, so he'd borne that in mind when it came to location - but the fact that she'd agreed to come with him; that he would finally have a chance to tell her how he felt, had his stomach twisting in excitement and trepidation.

More to the point, he had no idea if she'd actually be impressed by what he had planned.

As it turned out he needn't have worried. A picnic was, in most cases, just a picnic, but resting candles in the surrounding trees and doing a few fancy things with flowers was enough to assure Ivy that he had made a particular effort. She seemed if not enchanted, then pleasantly surprised.

"Master Thorn, I had no idea you were such a romantic!"

"Did me whisking ye away inta' the sunset not already clue ye in?" he grinned, inwardly congratulating himself on delivering that with barely a trace of nerves. He did curse his accent a little, though - it'd always been jarringly different to anything else found in these parts, and he'd never quite been able to shake it.

Ivy laughed at that, tapping his nose playfully. "Well, the sun's barely down yet. I'm not sure this quite qualifies."

Bog had to pause for a moment, suddenly overwhelmed with the realisation that this was really happening. _Ivy Forester_ had snuck away to see _him_. Not Henry Monday, not any of the other numerous suitors she had lined up, but him - Boggan Thorn. And she really looked happy to be doing so.

"We'll... we'll just have to stay out until sunset proper then, won't we?" Bog laughed, a trifle nervously. Thankfully, didn't appear to pick up on his anxiety, but she joined him with a peal of giggles that sounded to Bog like tiny silver bells.

He wasn't entirely certain that silver bells had a distinct sound to them. But if they did, he decided, it would be this.

"I don't see why we shouldn't," the girl replied, before turning her attention to the blanket spread before them. "But if we are to watch the sun go down together, won't you show me to my seat?"

* * *

 

Beyond the village of Wall, past the slumbering Guardian and the hill that had given two palace servants so much trouble eighteen years ago; over the other side of the market town near the border and across a great, wide river and a humpbacked mountain range, the king of Faerie lay dying.

He had no children or heirs of any kind to succeed him. His wife had died a decade ago, bringing into the world a sickly infant that had perished not days after its mother. There had been others, before this last, but none had survived beyond their second year.

Any other family he might still have possessed had been left far behind following his conquests. First of the great, gloomy, brooding forests to the east; where hulking trolls and vicious little goblins had lurked, and both been trampled by invading armies. Next, to the wide, fertile plains of the south - home to the elves and their farms and their trade in simple magics, all three harnessed by the King's growing empire.

And finally here, in the wild northern mountains. Stormhold. The jewel in his crown, and yet one with more sharp edges on which to spear himself than he ever would have imagined. To the west of here was the Wall, which would have been a greater prize than any other if it were crossed; but by the time he had taken Stormhold the King knew this would be his last endeavour.

He would not let his empire - his legacy - fall to ruin in his absence, however. Thus, he had summoned his most trusted ministers and most decorated generals to his chambers as he lay upon his deathbed.

The King gazed wearily round at them all, before reaching beneath the neck of his robe and withdrawing a long, golden chain.

"You all know what this is, of course," he said, smiling as jovially as he was able. Despite his love of conquest, he had always been kind to his own. Those who had traveled with him from their homeland reaped many benefits in the new kingdoms they discovered. The same could not be said for the kingdoms' old subjects.

He did not wait for a reply before continuing.

"The Power of Stormhold," the King rasped. The blood-red jewel on the end of the chain swung like a pendulum. "Whomsoever holds this, in theory, is Stormhold's rightful King. At present, that happens to be myself."

And though the King had never admitted it to anyone - even his own dear wife - he was haunted by the notion that the gem did not want him there. When he had first claimed the thing from the old king's corpse it had _burned_ ; leaving a silvery, star-shaped scar that still shone on his palm to this day.

More frightening still, each death of an heir he'd endured was accompanied by the same searing pain in his hand. It had burned strongest on the night his queen passed away, and now that he himself was dying he'd noticed the actual stone glowing with a faint, almost eager, light. Whenever he wore it around his neck he felt a pressure on his chest.

Shaking himself out of his current train of thought, the King addressed his audience once again.

"Everyone in this room knows that I am dying. The Power of Stormhold will not rest with me for much longer. As such - and listen well, now - I bequeath this stone, the Kingdom it stands for, and all lands I preside over, to whichever worthy man should be the first to find it. Let it be known that he is the rightful King of Stormhold."

At his words, the gem began to glow brighter than ever. The King's eyes widened in fear, but he found himself unable to pull his hand from the chain. As the assembled ministers and generals watched, dumbstruck, the elaborate golden edging that secured the Power of Stormhold shattered. The stone rose, searingly bright, into the air - before streaking off sharply to the right, narrowly missing the Master of Coin's ear, and smashing through a window into the night.

The King blinked.

"Well I must say, that was unexpected," he remarked. "I was planning to have someone take it round the kingdom - 'first worthy man to find it', you know, I expect it would've been some farmer's boy or blacksmith's son to take it and make it do something odd. That's how these things usually work, no?"

The ministers and generals all stared at him, rather nonplussed.

"Don't just stand around, you fools!" the King exclaimed. "For goodness' sake, go and find the thing!"

With that he slumped back onto his pillows and closed his eyes, never to open them again.

* * *

 

She wasn't too happy with this turn of events, it had to be said.

Why her? It wasn't like she was particularly radiant, or especially... well, radiance was the main thing for them, really, wasn't it? There weren't many other fields in which to excel, in her line of work. She didn't have any of those fancy little planets hanging round her that were all the rage these days. There was nothing to mark her out as deserving of some great adventure. All she did was sit around all day, sparkle a bit at night; and occasionally, when she grew bored, watch and pick out young men she might run away with if she ever fell to Earth.

Well, she was falling now. And it was decidedly unglamorous and very disorienting, and above all painful. Not just the wrench of being torn away from her sky and her sisters and her mother, the moon, either. Something had collided with her and that something was currently clutched tightly in her palm, after it'd slammed into her stomach - giving her barely enough time to close her fingers around it in shock before she plummeted out of the air.

She could faintly see the ground below her, now. Just her luck; it was all mountain peaks and craggy rock. Would it have been so difficult to provide her with a nice, soft haystack to land in? Or even a tree? Granted, the tree would probably be blown to bits by the impact, but she couldn't bring herself to care when faced with this unpleasant alternative.

Turning her (grumpy, resigned) gaze back up to the sky again, she just about caught a horrified cry reaching for her.

" _Dawn!_ "

She couldn't be sure given her own impressive tail of light, but she thought she saw a second one streaking above her.

 _Typical_ , Dawn thought. _Doesn't notice until I'm nearly down. And she can't even let me have the big story to tell everyone. Noooo, Marianne needs to share the adventure too!_

Her next thought, upon hitting the ground, was _Ouch!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: formatting's all fixed now, hopefully this should be a much easier read! In less pleasant news, the orthodontist visit that interrupted my editing yielded horrible elastics to be put on my braces. :(

"Oh Bog, look! A shooting star!"

Bog took a moment to register what Ivy had said, still reeling a little from shock. Seconds earlier she'd delivered quite the revelation, and he still hadn't completely come to terms with it. Shooting stars were, frankly, the least of his concerns.

"Wait. What... what was that you said about Henry Monday?"

"Hm?" Ivy smiled rather disarmingly, gazing up at him from under her eyelashes. Bog almost lost his train of thought, caught himself just in time, and doggedly persevered.

"Henry Monday," he said again, voice threatening to crack. "Ye said"-  

"That he's asked for my hand in marriage, yes," Ivy interjected. "But I haven't accepted yet." Her grin turned decidedly more playful, and he realised that at some point delicate fingers had found their way to the front of his shirt. "I wanted to... shall we say... explore my options, first?"

Bog gulped.

"Did he give you a ring?" he asked, gingerly shifting back a little. He may have orchestrated this little excursion, but one misstep and he was quite sure he'd be nothing more than a puddle of nerves. And he couldn't afford that at such a crucial moment as this. 

"Oh no, if he'd had a ring I'd probably have accepted on the spot," Ivy laughed. Bog's heart didn't exactly leap, but it gave a tentative sort of skip in his chest. "He's going to get me one, though. Travelling all the way to Ipswich, can you believe it?"

The skip became a despairing flop.

"So... so why did ye agree to see me?" Bog whispered, his accent growing ever thicker even as he cursed it. "If all you're waiting for is the ring..."

"Because I don't quite believe Henry will do that, of course!" her silver-bells giggles were back in full force now. "And as I said, I still have other options. He's planning to present me with it on my birthday, and that's not for another month."

Even as she said that, Bog knew he was no longer one of her options. A ring from Ipswich! There was no way he could best that. He probably couldn't afford a ring in the first place, no matter its origin.

He was distracted from his lament by Ivy tugging at his arm.

"Would you look at that! Two shooting stars in one evening! We should make a wish."

Bog followed her gaze, only half-seeing the streak of silver fire that her finger was tracing.

_I wish I had something wonderful to give to my true love. Something more wonderful than a ring from Ipswich..._

And inspiration struck, as suddenly and violently as if a third star had plunged from the sky right at him.

* * *

Before the dead King's head even hit the pillow, a mad scramble had begun in his bedchamber.

That scramble quickly spread throughout the castle, as various officials and ministers and dignitaries and generals all rushed about shouting for attendants and maps, and food and wine to sustain them through the long night ahead.

The Power of Stormhold had to be recovered, and quickly - for without it, Faerie was without a king.

Amidst all the commotion, one young military officer slipped down the servants' stairs, saddlebags slung over his shoulders and a map of his own tucked away beneath his clothes. He eased open a side door, crept into the stables, retrieved his horse, stole the one stabled next to it too; and vanished into the night.

It seemed to him that he was the only one to realise what the King's parting decree could truly mean. All the others back in the castle were fretting first and foremost over retrieving the stone. But the stone in itself wasn't what was important - what mattered was the power that went with it. To have the stone was to command all of Faerie: its lands, its people...

... And its military might. Whoever held command could, theoretically, continue the old King's noble work, expanding the borders of the realm and - who knew - perhaps even doing the unthinkable. Perhaps even crossing the Wall and taking the lands beyond.

The stone was potential. The stone was an opportunity.

An opportunity that would go to whichever worthy man was the first to find it.

* * *

Farther into the mountains than even Stormhold dwelled; tucked deep into an ancient, craggy fold of rock, down which whispered a waterfall that was bright and cold as steel, there was a tiny stone cottage.

The dwelling seemed to have grown out of the mountainside itself, so worn and weathered were its walls, and the especially tumbledown parts looked to be held together by centuries of cobwebs. A single, skeletal tree grew almost vertically from the cliff just above its roof, and at the end of one of the tree's branches grew a single, dainty pink blossom.

The cottage door banged open, and clattered back against the wall.

"Yes, I'm going, I'm going! You think I don't _know_ the water needs to be collected when the moon touches the highest peak?! I've been doing this for the past five hundred years! Trust me, I know!"

Two seconds later a bucket, intended to collect the aforementioned water but now unlikely to ever fulfil its purpose, fell to the floor with a crash.

"By _Oberon_..."

The dropper of the bucket - a diminutive, wispy figure almost entirely swathed in a heavy woollen cloak - whirled back round to face the door and shouted at the top of her lungs: "Get out here! All of you! Yes, Andromeda, you as well! We've got another one! It's been five hundred blasted years, but we've got another one!"

As a sudden rumble of activity reared up inside the tiny house, the water gatherer turned her face back to the sky. Her skin was blue, though that may have just been the mountain cold, and pockmarked with what could almost be pinpricks of light - but under the full moon's gaze, they looked like ordinary freckles. Her eyes were pale and wide with wonder: as wide as the great black night that stretched above her, and as pale as the silvery disc of the moon.

And as she stared, a fleeting flash of light danced across them.

The cloak nearly slipped from around her shoulders as she sprinted for the door again.

"Make that _two_!"

* * *

 

Dawn groaned and lifted her head from the ground, cracking open a bleary blue eye to assess her surroundings.

Then she _eep_ ed and closed it again.

So. That hadn't been a dream. Instead of drifting off during the night (which she was always being teased for by her sisters, but hey, a girl needed her beauty sleep) and falling into a nightmare of... well, falling, she had _actually_ dropped from the sky and been knocked out cold in the process.

Speaking of cold, it was freezing up in these mountains. The star shivered and, with much pained grunting, pushed herself upright, drawing her knees up to her chest.

At least, she tried to. Her left leg wouldn't cooperate, and as she shifted it a sharp stab lanced through her shin. Dawn swore and then immediately clamped a hand over her mouth, glancing up at the moon overhead with an apology in her eyes. Her mother didn't know she knew that word, but she'd heard Marianne saying it often enough.

_Marianne!_

She hadn't seen Marianne land! But the other star's trail was absent from the sky, so either she had already crashed down, or she was very close to it.

Either way, Dawn realised, there was no sign of her sister anywhere round here. Which meant that she had to go find her. Marianne was bound to cause havoc until she recovered her sister star - Dawn knew her sibling had been dreading this very event, as stars in their little patch of the sky did have a rather alarming penchant for falling. She and Marianne had been born one after another, and Marianne, as the elder, had always been terrified by the thought of her little sister living up to thiat tendency. Especially after their older sister, and neighbour, had done just that five hundred years ago.

Personally, Dawn didn't see what was so bad about falling.

Apart from the landing, that was - she winced and hissed out another curse or two as she got jerkily to her feet. A dismayed cry escaped her when she discovered the state of her dress: the silvery blue silk was hopelessly grubby, and ripped at the hem. Her hair probably looked even worse.

One thing was certain; she couldn't go among the humans looking like this. Sadly, she doubted forbidding mountain ranges such as these had much in the way of dress shops - and even if she did stumble across one, she had no money.

As she smoothed out the folds of her dress, something clinked softly against the floor. Frowning, Dawn bent down again and scrabbled her fingers around until they met something sharp and glassy. Scooping it up, she soon discovered it to be a small, teardrop-shaped gem, completely transparent and strangely warm. With a jolt she realised that this was what had crashed into her. She had no idea how such a thing had come to be rocketing through the sky at lightning speed, but what struck her straight away was that the jewel looked valuable - she could sell it perhaps, and use it to buy new clothes, and food, and passage to find her sister.

Thus resolved, Dawn straightened up and began a limping march away from her point of impact. She didn't get very far, however, before she registered the towering wall of rock before her.

The star muttered a "Drat!" and turned to set off in a different direction - but realised immediately that an identical wall faced her there, too.

In fact, she saw, turning a slow circle, she was surrounded on all sides by a ring of the same sheer stone.

Dawn made a noise of disgust and stamped her good foot. How was she supposed to get out of a _crater_ on a broken leg?!

Not too long after, the solution would literally crash into her. Though he would be less than happy about it.

* * *

 

Though he'd already escorted Ivy home, Bog had yet to return to his parents' house. If all went to plan, he wouldn't be going back for quite some time.

The promise he had made to her was simple in its concept - but the execution thereof would be far more complex. He replayed the conversation that had followed it as he left the last few houses in Wall behind.

 _"You want to give me a star? You want to_ cross the wall _, and bring me back a star?"_

 _"I... I do. I would do_ anything _for ye, Ivy. I can't buy you a ring from Ipswich, but I can do this - I swear it. I'll bring ye that fallen star."_

_"Which one?"_

_"What?"_

_"There were two of them, silly! Which one will you bring me?"_

_"Well, whichever one I find first. I don't see that it'd make a difference." Then he'd paused, suddenly nervous. What if it did? "Would it?"_

_"Of course not! I can't exactly be picky when I'm being promised my very own star!" She gave him another one of her coy smiles, and Bog's heart stuttered a little. "I expect you'll ask me to marry you, then, when you get back?"_

_"If... if ye wouldn't mind that, yes."_

_"I wouldn't mind at all. Looks like you've got about a month, then - if you want to beat Henry to it."_

And the upshot of all that was that he was now striding through a field, shivering slightly and wishing he'd thought to bring his coat, the picnic basket from earlier slung over one arm. He was headed towards the old drystone wall that was the subject of much folklore in the village - nobody, in living memory, had ever crossed the thing, and it was rumoured to border a realm of faeries.

In Bog's opinion, that was all complete rubbish. The real reason nobody ever crossed it was because of the senile, white-haired guardian of the dratted thing, who camped out in this field and clobbered any misguided travellers or curious youngsters who tried to climb across.

But the star had fallen on the other side of the wall, and superstitious nonsense or not, it would seem that he now had to reckon with this same gatekeeper.

The gap in the wall was in sight, now. Bog could also see what looked like a pile of rags heaped against the stone - but as he approached the bundle stirred, and two shrewd little black eyes peered out at him. He stopped in his tracks and the guardian shifted some more, craning their neck until a shock of dandelion-clock hair was visible peeking out from the bottom of their hood.

Bog rocked back on his heels slightly, feigning cheeriness. This guardian had to be nearly a hundred years old, surely. Slipping past them couldn't be too difficult.

"Evening!" he called, which earned him a suspicious squint. "Just popping across the wall, if that's alright with ye?"

With rather disconcerting speed, the guardian was upright and advancing. The squint had narrowed to a glare, and Bog threw his hands up in surrender, basket swinging beneath one elbow.

"Apparently not! Ye sure ye couldn't make an exception?"

The guardian opened their mouth and gave a warning hiss, exposing bare pink gums. That, at least, explained their silence up to now - but Bog was quite alarmed by this display all the same.

He lowered his hands.

"Alright, then. Obviously ye aren't willing to compromise. I'll be going, shall I?"

His adversary gave a curt nod, still scowling, and turned back for their spot beside the wall.

That was when Bog acted. Dropping the basket, he sprinted full tilt at the gap, watching it draw rapidly closer. He couldn't be more than a handful of feet away -

A leg swung out of nowhere, colliding with his shins and sending him sprawling. Bog yelped, cursing his long limbs as he struggled to right himself - and only just rolled to the side in time when a heavy wooden staff slammed down where his ear had been. The guardian gave another eerie hiss and swung their weapon back to prepare for another blow.

Breathing heavily and by now rather panicked, Bog hauled himself to his feet and pressed himself back against the wall as the staff swung at him again. Wide-eyed, he ducked, and as he did so his shoe nudged something on the ground.

It was a fallen branch; slender and rather fragile-looking next to the guardian's staff, but it was better than nothing. At the gatekeeper's next attack he grabbed it and pushed it upwards, blocking the blow against him with a loud clack. That gave him the chance to shove the staff away and take off running.

He scooped up the dropped basket in his flight and made a rapid beeline back towards Wall, feeling shaken and dishevelled and above all despairing once again.

How was he supposed to get that star for Ivy _now_?

* * *

Marianne landed in a bush.

The bush was somewhat vaporised upon her impact - along with several of its neighbouring trees - but she was grateful for it all the same. The stunted little plant had at least absorbed part of the shock.

With a muttered string of curses the star heaved herself to her feet and turned slowly on the spot, trying to get a feel for her surroundings. The cursing soon increased in volume. This looked nothing like where she'd seen Dawn fall! That had been all mountain peaks and bare rock, and this was a (very recently created) clearing in an otherwise dense, verdant forest.

 _Really_ verdant. She could tell how green it was at _night_.

Groaning, Marianne shook herself. She needed to focus. There had to be somewhere around here where she could find shelter until morning, or even transport or information that would help her find Dawn. Humans used roads to get around, she recalled. Locating one of them would be a start.

She took a step, and immediately discovered that her dress had caught on the remains of the bush, by way of falling flat on her face.

This horrible white satin thing she was in definitely wasn't practical. Making a face, Marianne grabbed at the bottom of it and pulled: a satisfyingly wide strip of fabric came away with a loud tearing sound.

The star straightened up, knotted the strip about her waist, and pressed on with renewed vigour. Not five minutes into her journey, she heard something approaching - it took a few seconds of skimming through her knowledge of the world down here to identify the sound as hoof steps.

That would be the road, she supposed.

Pushing between the branches of a couple of young oak trees, Marianne found a path of beaten earth stretching off to either side in front of her. The hoof falls were getting closer - she caught sight of what was probably a lantern, approaching to her left. The light illuminated a vague silhouette of horse and rider.

"Hey!" Marianne called, squeezing fully out of her hiding place and running into the road. She waved her arms above her head, stumbling a little. "Hey! Stop! Help!"

The horse reared with a shriek, the lantern swung crazily, and the rider cried out, fighting to bring his mount under control. This was made significantly more difficult by the fact that there was a second, equally spooked animal tethered to the first.

The star swore and stretched out her hands towards the creature, attempting to make a few soothing-sounding noises. To her surprise, it worked rather well. The horse quieted down and shuffled itself into a more sedate posture - beside it, its neighbour had also ceased its frantic stamping.

Their owner was breathing rather heavily, slumped over his steed's neck and clutching his chest.

"Sorry," Marianne groaned. "I couldn't risk you missing me."

"Well, I definitely saw you," the rider gasped. "Scaring someone's horse is a pretty surefire way to get their attention - but I don't think there's much harm done. Has anyone ever told you you've got a way with animals?"

Then he finally looked at her, lifting his lantern high.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing all the way out here at this time? Alone, too! And what happened to your dress?"

"It's... a long story," Marianne replied. "I didn't mean to end up out here, but I've lost my sister. Could you take me to the nearest village, or town or wherever? I'll leave you be from there," she added, hastily. "I just need a starting point for looking for her."

The young man grinned, sweeping a golden curl back from his eye.

"That'd be no trouble at all, my dear," he answered. "I'm in a hurry, but as long as you can keep up with me you should be fine."

He swung down from his own horse and untied the second, handing the reins to Marianne.

"You're lucky I brought abother horse with me. Was planning to sell her, but I think you're in more need."

She accepted the reins with a grateful smile, and climbed up rather clumsily. This, as he'd said, was a stroke of luck for her - it was possible that she might even find Dawn as early as tomorrow, if anyone at their destination had seen her. Then all they'd have to worry about was getting back home.

Some of her worry ebbed away as she realised this, and her smile widened. The rider shot her an odd glance.

"I didn't catch your name, by the way," he prompted, as he pulled himself back up into the saddle and set off again. Marianne imitated the kick he gave to the horse's sides and her mount began to move. The first lurch had her clenching her fists over the reins.

"Whoa - don't hold so tightly," her companion murmured, reaching over to loosen her grip. "Looks like you haven't done much riding before."

"Not really," Marianne admitted. _Not at all_.

"Well... I can afford to take this stretch slowly, I suppose," he said, though he seemed a little reluctant. "And you still haven't told me your name."

"I'm Marianne. My sister's called Dawn."

"Pleased to meet you, Marianne. You can call me Roland."


End file.
